


let me come with you

by oopsabird



Series: en prise [2]
Category: DC Extended Universe, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: (maybe a bit above that), Action & Romance, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, M/M, Mission Fic, Multilingual Character, Peril, Post-Canon, Romance, Serious Injuries, Team as Family, Torture, Whump, epilogue compliant, i love Charlie and i am terrible to him, liberties taken with medical accuracy, sober Charlie, tropes tropes and more tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 14:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18345500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird
Summary: the woods are lovely, dark and deep (but i have promises to keep)or;When things go awry on a mission in Italy, it's Charlie's turn to risk everything for his family, and pray they'll bring him home. Sequel and mirror togambit.





	let me come with you

**Author's Note:**

> surprise bitch, bet you thought you'd seen the last of me! I wrote this all in some kind of three day long insane binge back in October 2018, then promptly got distracted by about a million other things (mostly fanfic, partly life) and forgot to post. And now I am finally getting off my ass and releasing it into the wild!
> 
> Highly recommend reading _gambit_ before diving into this one if you haven't since it's kind of a pre-req, and reading more of my SamiCharlie fics in general to get a gist for my (at times generous) interpretation of them if you're a newcomer to this rarepair party. This fic is set like two years after the events of gambit - Diana is off exploring her new world and the team is running missions retrieving magical artifacts and taking down criminals for British Intelligence under Etta. And please, for the love of god imagine Charlie has a normal human haircut by now and not that godawful ~~abomination~~ wig - I personally am partial to [this one](https://m.imdb.com/name/nm0001971/mediaviewer/rm4200833024) once sported by his actor the very talented Ewen Bremner, seen here making a normal face for once in his fucking life.
> 
> Fair warning: this one is much more violent (read: dwells longer on the interrogation parts) and whump-filled than _gambit_ was, in much more explicitly stated terms, and Charlie has a pretty rough time. **Trigger warning:** there is a short scene in which a character considers and almost follows through on taking his own life to avoid capture. Also, I don't provide translation for Sami's many many multilingual endearments but google translate should work on most of them (I'll give you this: _matraba_ is Arabic for "songbird; one who sings"; _leannan_ is Gaelic for “sweetheart; darling; lover”; many of the other Arabic endearments are from [here](https://www.arabamerica.com/12-ways-express-love-arabic/)).

* * *

_I know that each one of us travels to love alone,_

_alone to faith and to death._

_I know it. I’ve tried it. It doesn’t help._

_Let me come with you._

_-["Moonlight Sonata", by Yiannis Ritsos](https://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poem/item/2678/auto/MOONLIGHT-SONATA)_

* * *

        “What a fine bloody mess we’re in this time!” Charlie shouted, out of breath as his feet pounded on the dirt, carrying him through the North Italian forest.

        “Hey!” Sameer yelled back over his shoulder, racing along a few feet in front of him. “At least it’s not as bad as Russia!”

        “Don’t jinx it!” Etta snapped from up ahead.

        “I am not jinxing it!”

_BANG!_

        A gunshot flew over their heads, making them all duck.

        “You jinxed it!” Chief bellowed from the front of the pack.

        “Shut up!” Sami yelled. He looked back over his shoulder again. “Keeping up okay, Charlie?”

        “Aye,” Charlie panted, cracking a smile, “just peachy, sunshine.” He glanced back over his shoulder; while he wasn’t yet able to see the crime syndicate thugs who were on their tail, he could hear mingled shouts of Italian and dozens of pounding footsteps, and that kept his adrenaline pumping. “Oi Chief! Just how far til we reach those train tracks?”

        “Should be just ahead!”

_BANG!_

        “I bloody well hope so!”

        From somewhere in front of them through the trees, a train horn sounded long and low.

        “This way!” Chief called, adjusting his course slightly to veer through thicker undergrowth as they climbed a large gentle-sloping rise in the terrain. The rest of the team followed after him, crashing through the brush unspeaking as the thugs shouted somewhere behind them.

        Then Sameer’s foot caught something in the undergrowth and he tripped, pitching forward with a wordless yelp.

        “Sami!” Charlie skidded to a stop at his side, the rifle on his back knocking against his spine as he bent down to help Sameer to his feet. “Are y’alright love?”

        “Just fine,  _chérie_.” Sami nodded and gave a breathless half-smile as he stood, squeezing Charlie’s arm. “Keep moving, I am okay.”

        “C’mon,” Charlie said quickly, pushing Sami forward with a hand on the small of his back. “We’ve got a train to catch.”

        They picked up speed as they crested the rise, Sami in front and Charlie following right behind, throwing hurried glances back over his shoulder every couple of seconds. The woods still obscured the thugs, but he knew they must be close behind.

        Chief and Etta were waiting anxiously just on the other side of the rise where it began to drop off steeply, crouched behind trees; Sami ducked behind a wide-trunked tree at the crest of the hill just above them others and yanked Charlie in after him. They stood there chest to chest, Sami’s back against the bark, and took an instant to catch their breath with heads resting together.

        After a second Charlie turned around to take in the new view: The back of the hill was much steeper and rockier, stretching further down into a sort of long shallow valley, along the bottom of which a freight train sat upon its tracks. The train was currently stopped – looking to the left to that far end of the hollow, Charlie saw that the engine sat just a few metres ahead of where the valley opened up to a plunging rocky ravine that fell deep out of sight — the tracks stretched out into it on pilings, hugging the mountainside above a sheer drop into the abyss before making a hard turn around the cliff face out of sight. The cars of the train stretched in the other direction nearly far enough to be out of view, though Charlie thought he might be able to make out the caboose. Lucky for them, then, that the train was stopped — and looking back to the left, he could see why.

        In front of the engine just before the mouth of the deep ravine, a large brown bear and two smaller cubs were standing on the tracks, picking nonchalantly at some sort of carcass that lay there and steadfastly ignoring the frustrated honking of the train’s horn.

        “Fortune favours the brave,” Chief quipped, nodding down at the animals with a sly smile on his face.

        “Or providence has a soft spot for fools,” Etta muttered sarcastically. “Looks like that’s our ticket out of here, boys.”

        “Sami, you still have the files?” Chief said, glancing back at him.

        “Right here.” Sami patted his chest next to where Charlie’s hand clutched his coat; the papers detailing the members and operations of the crime syndicate which he had lifted from their safe lay secure beneath his vest.

        “We need to hurry,” Charlie said anxiously, turning around to peer out over Sami’s shoulder, back down the way they’d came. “I cannae see them but I’m sure they’re right behind us.”

_BANG!_

        As if to prove him right, a shot from the low side of the hill slammed into the tree they were sheltered behind, throwing up a spray of splinters and making Sami yelp in surprise, his grip crushing on Charlie’s arm.

_BANG!_

        Another shot to the far side of their tree, cold fear spiking in Charlie’s gut as he tried to pull Sami protectively close against his chest.

        “Point taken!” Etta exclaimed.

        “Look!” Chief pointed towards the front of the train, and they all turned to follow his hand.

        While the train horn had not bothered the bears, the gunshot apparently had, and they were now leaving their meal behind and moving off the tracks to scamper away into the forest on the far side. The train gave one last parting honk of its horn to see them off, and began to very slowly roll forward.

        “Time to go!” Etta shouted, tightening her bag over her shoulder and ducking out to start down the hill. “Come on boys!”

        “Don’t have to tell me twice!” Chief followed after her down the steep slope, his larger strides soon bringing him into the lead. Still it was slow going, the loose rocky ground shifting unpredictably beneath their feet and necessitating careful footing. A sinking feeling settled in Charlie’s stomach — at this rate, none of them would reach the bottom before the thugs crested the ridge and made them fish in a barrel, unable to even run.

        “Come on Charlie,” Sami hissed, jerking his chin in the direction of their friends, trying to push Charlie into movement. “You said it yourself, we need to hurry.”

_BANG!_

        Another shot clipped the side of their tree, and he could hear the men shouting at the bottom of the hill.

        “We won’t make it,” Charlie shook his head, mind racing for a solution.

        “What?” Sami tried to shove off from the tree. “Don’t be absurd, we must move!”

        “It’s too blasted slow!” Charlie exclaimed, pushing him back against the bark. “They’ll catch up to us in minutes, and then we’re sittin’ ducks on that slope! We need more time, we need...”

        In Sami’s wide and worried dark eyes, he could see his reflection — and the rifle slung over his own shoulder.

        That would do.

        “Charlie-” Sami hissed, as always too smart not catch on to what he was thinking, grabbing his coat and trying harder to push him towards the train, “Charlie no, no don’t even  _think_  about it-”

        Charlie dug in his heels, firmly driving Sami back against the tree. “It’s just to buy us time, I’ll be right behind you-”

        “Then let me do it!”

        “You can’t, you’ve got the files-”

        “Charlie-”

        “Sameer listen,  _listen!_ ” Charlie took Sami’s face in both hands, forcing him to stop struggling and meet his gaze. “I’ll be right behind you darlin’, I swear. But you have to go.  _Please_.” The others were shouting from further down the cliff, and the train was gaining speed.

        Sami gazed helplessly at him for a second with anguished eyes, then yanked Charlie forward by the front of his jacket into a brief, bruising kiss.

        “Promise,” Sami whispered, an order and a plea, pressing their foreheads together hard and cupping his cheek. “Promise me _albi_ , please-”

        “Right behind you,” Charlie said with a shaky smile, reaching up to squeeze his hand. “Promise.”

_BANG!_

        “Now go on!” Charlie swung them around and spun until his own back hit the tree, releasing Sami to send him skidding on his feet a few metres down the slope, out of sight of the thugs. Sami looked at him in horror, frozen for a moment as Charlie swung his rifle down off his back. “Go, Sameer!” Only when Sami turned and started down the hill, glancing over his shoulder every few steps, did Charlie look away.

        Readying his rifle, he took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself, and then dropped down to his stomach, crawling into the brush at the peak of the hill. From that vantage point he could look back down on the side of the rise they had climbed up earlier, at the dozen or more syndicate thugs picking their way painstakingly through the thick undergrowth towards where he hid. The nearest of them was almost halfway up the hill.

        Propping himself up into a prone shooting stance with his elbows, Charlie peered down the barrel of his gun, scanning quickly for potential targets in the men’s kneecaps. This wasn’t his old specialty rifle, unfortunately – just a standard model he’d swiped from the syndicate compound — but at four years sober he was still a crack shot; the real problem was that there were too many of them, and by the time he got three or more shots off, they would know his position for sure. There had to be some way to slow them down, take out more of them at once....

        A breeze blew through the treetops overhead, and something groaned woodenly to his left. Charlie looked towards the sound, and saw that one of the great trees at the top of the hill stood at a steep sideways angle over the embankment, its massive base of roots pulled halfway out of the ground by the winds off some storm. The wind jostled the branches and caused the tree’s weight to stain noisily against the few remaining root strands that kept it from tumbling down the low side of the hill.

        Well, that would serve.

        Quickly, hearing the men draw closer through the undergrowth, Charlie twisted his body to the left to take aim at the biggest of the straining roots, and fired.

_BANG!_

        The bullet sliced through the plant tissue, severing the root and causing the tree to groan and strain a few more inches towards falling, though it didn’t go yet. A shout went up from the thugs, clearly wondering where the shot had come from.

        Charlie took aim at another root and fired again.

_BANG!_

        It snapped with a crack, the tree groaning and sagging even further, but still not falling.

_BANG!_

        A shot from below just grazed the back of Charlie’s right shoulder, and he bit back a curse at the sting. The men must have figured out his position sooner than expected — but just one more shot and he should be able to make this work....

        He took aim on the last straining tree root and, knowing he had no other chance left, fired.

_BANG!_

        The root snapped, and with a deafening groan the massive tree pitched down the hill, crashing into the nearest thug not ten feet from where Charlie was hiding and rolling like thunder down the slope towards the rest of them, who realized what was happening with a scattering of curses and screams.

        “ _Che diavolo?!_ ”

        Charlie didn’t stay to watch the carnage, dropping his rifle and leaping to his feet to throw himself over the rise and start scrambling as fast as he could down the rocky backside of the hill towards his friends.

        He slid down the slope a few meters at a time scattering rocks in his wake, not daring to try to stop his momentum lest he tip arse-over-teakettle down the rest of the hill. Etta and Chief were only just reaching the flat ground at the bottom of the valley, and Sami was nearly there, but there was still a ways to go before the train. They all paused and turned to look up at him and at the chorus of screams and crashing branches from over the hill.

        “Don’t wait!” Charlie shouted, waving them onward. The end of the train was clearly within sight to the right of the valley now, and it was still picking up speed. “I’m comin’, keep movin’!!”

        Etta and Chief took off running again, Sami following hesitantly behind them and glancing back as he picked his way down the rest of the slope.

        “Come on Sami!” Etta shouted over her shoulder when he stopped and turned back towards Charlie upon reaching the base of the hill. The end of the train would soon be directly across from them now, and it was growing faster still. Sami started after her again with halting steps, glancing back again and again in the mad dash across the ravine.

        Chief reached the train first, making the near-inhuman leap to grab the handle next to the door of the last boxcar before the caboose. With surprisingly little effort, he slid one half of the door open and nimbly swung inside. An instant later he was turning around and extending his hands to Etta as she reached the side of the car too, catching her hands when she leapt and hoisting her in through the door.

        “Hurry boys!” she shouted, turning back to lean out the door.

        Charlie finally reached the bottom of the hill, and without pausing took off across the ravine floor, eyes fixed on Sami’s back a couple metres ahead of him.

        By the time Sami reached the train Charlie was having to run diagonally along the ravine to keep on track for it. Sami shot a frantic look over his shoulder before he let Chief grab him by the hand and pull him onboard; an instant later he was hanging halfway out the door again and stretching out his hand as Charlie finally got up alongside the caboose, one car back.

        “Almost there Charlie!” Sami shouted back over the noise of the train. “Grab my hand, I’ll pull you up!”

        The train was nearing full speed now, and it took every ounce of strength in Charlie’s burning tired legs to move him further up alongside it, inching closer and closer to the next car and Sami’s outstretched hand. Just a couple more feet...

_BANG!_

_TWING!_

        A shot ricocheted off the train just above Charlie’s head, and both of them looked up to see what must be the reserve guard of syndicate thugs cresting the hill where Charlie had felled their teammates, rifles in hand.

        “Faster Charlie!” Sami yelled over the train, stretching so far he very nearly fell out of the door, Chief grabbing the shoulder of his coat. “Come on! You can do it!”

        Charlie’s legs drove him forward, closer and closer — the rocks were fist-sized and difficult to run on, but he managed to continue it, lungs burning fiercely for his efforts.

_BANG!_

_THWACK!_

        The bullet hit the rocks somewhere to Charlie’s left, throwing off small shards that bounced harmlessly off his coat and trousers but made him flinch all the same.

        “Come on Charlie! Take my hand!”

        Just a few more inches.... just a few more inches and he could grab Sami’s outstretched fingers.

_BANG!_

        The bullet sliced deep into the back of Charlie’s right calf and hit bone, stealing his next step and slamming him down face first onto the rocks beside the tracks.

        “NO!” Sami’s horrified scream split the air, echoing through the ravine.

        Lying on the ground, Charlie gasped for breath and blinked slowly, dazed as the rocks danced in front of his eyes. He didn’t feel any pain in his leg yet, but his chest didn’t feel quite right, which meant he almost certainly had fractured a few ribs in the fall. There was blood dripping onto the rocks by his face, so his head likely had a lovely gash in it somewhere as well.

        “CHARLIE! CHARLIE!!”

        He lifted his head just enough to see the train speeding away down the tracks; Sami was still hanging from the open boxcar door and struggling vainly against Etta and Chief’s efforts to restrain him and keep him on board.

        “NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!  _CHARLIE!_ ”

        The train was out over the deeper ravine and rounding the mountainside now, eliminating any chance of Sami being able to jump out. Charlie watched helplessly as it flew further and further away, Sami’s anguished face growing smaller and his panicked voice fading, until the train took the sharp corner around the cliff and he disappeared from view. In a moment the tracks were empty.

        Charlie relaxed, letting his forehead rest back upon the ground and breathing a shaky sigh.

        At least his family was safe. At least the mission would be completed. He understood now, how Sami had felt on that cold day in Russia three years ago; that heady, wonderful giddy rush of irrational relief that overwhelmed all fear for his own well-being, because Sami and the others were going to  _live_.

        He could feel his leg starting to twinge, distantly. That was going to be very unpleasant in a few moments.

        “ _Eccolo!_ ”

        Right. The Italians.

        Shakily, Charlie pushed himself up on one elbow, his other hand flying to clutch at his side. Oh, those ribs were definitely fractured. He could feel hot blood trickling down the left side of his face from the cut on his head; painstakingly he rolled himself over onto his back, right leg not quite cooperating but still following limply along.

        He shut his eyes against the building wave of pain, breathing hard through his nose as he lay there clutching his ribs and trying to formulate a plan. For some reason the sensation of the rocks digging into his back and thighs through his trousers was very distracting, his mind circling back to it again and again.

        No. Focus. Fight.

        Charlie grit his teeth and forced his eyes open — he could see men with rifles running down the tracks in the near distance, more of them pouring out of the forest further down.

        He wouldn’t go without a fight.

        Shifting so that his right arm propped him up and held his ribs, Charlie reached with his left hand for the revolver on his hip, unfastening the clasp with slightly clumsy fingers as he glanced frantically at the men getting closer along the track. C’mon, c’mon.... Finally he drew the gun and took aim, thanking all his lucky stars that he could shoot with either hand.

        He was shaky, but it would have to do.

        The first shot went wide to the left of the lead man. The second hit him low in the thigh, and he went down with a strangled scream. Charlie grunted in frustration — he’d been aiming for centre of mass.

        He took aim at the next man, the gun now trembling almost violently on his hand — he was gritting his teeth so hard his ears were ringing, the pain in his chest and leg starting to build and build towards a terrible crescendo.

        He couldn’t make the shot. The man was getting closer. The gun was shaking too much. He couldn’t make the shot.

        The instincts of a soldier-turned-spy screamed at him, that terrible imperative British Intelligence had impressed upon them all since Russia: avoid capture, avoid interrogation, avoid the chance of being tortured into a traitor at all costs.

        At all costs.

        Charlie swallowed hard. At all costs. He shakily lifted the gun to press cold and hard against his own temple. At all costs.

        This shot, surely, he could make.

        The new lead man was getting closer, and it had to be now or never, so Charlie took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes.

        Suddenly he saw Sami.

        Not the last sight he’d had of him, screaming from the train — no, this was the hospital after Russia, Sami tired and rumpled and bruised but still handsome; Charlie’s own anger at how Sami would throw away his life to save them; the tender words and first kisses and promises exchanged in the dark.

        Promises not to leave one another behind.

        Charlie hesitated, finger trembling on the trigger.

        The lead thug reached him then, boots crunching over the rocks, and when a hand ripped the gun from his shaking grip Charlie let it go without a fight.

        He opened his eyes to look up at the man looming over him, rifle in one hand and Charlie’s pistol in the other.

        “Gotcha,” the thug said, grinning, and he slammed his rifle butt into Charlie’s head.

* * *

        Charlie opened his eyes, ears ringing, and for once everything was in merciful shadow.

        That was the sole benefit, he supposed, to these moments when his torturer leaned in close after the blows to demand information — the man’s half-balding head blocked out the harsh bright light of the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling in this miserable little room. Charlie took a little comfort in the reprieve every time, had been doing so since he first awoke with a shoddy bandage on his leg, his shirts and shoes missing and that damned light shining in his eyes. He wasn’t really certain how long he’d been here — consciousness had been inconsistent at first, and to him it felt like years.

        “Tell me about the strike team,” the man said almost softly, for what must have been the eightieth time. He stepped back to lean on table a few feet away, arms folded and fingers tapping on the short wooden club in his hand. “Anything you like, just give me some words about the others who were with you.”

        Always with the bare lightbulbs, these places. Hadn’t the torture community ever learned about lampshades?

        “My name... is Corporal Charles MacLeod....” Charlie grit out, trying to shift so that the ropes around his middle didn’t dig against his cracked ribs and chafe the bare skin over them. He missed his shirt. “Assigned to British Intelligence.... my serial is 2511759-”

        “Well I  _know_  that,” the man sighed, rolling his eyes. “It’s only damned thing you’ve told me all day!”

        All of the other thugs and personnel Charlie had encountered since waking up tied and cuffed in this small cold windowless room some hours ago had been Italian — this man alone spoke with an upper-class English accent, often as calm and refined as if he were discussing politics over tea. Sometimes, his tone turned creepingly intimate, cooing and overly familiar in a cold, blatantly false sort of way that made Charlie’s skin crawl. That was particularly irritating — he despised shoddy liars.

        “Come now, Corporal. Surely you must be as tired of this as I am. Give us some _real_  information.”

        Charlie only glared at him, defiant even with one eye starting to swell shut, and grit his teeth. “My name... is Corporal Charles MacLeod...”

        A strike across his bare upper chest, knocking the wind out of him and leaving that horrible breathless choking feeling behind. It had been the club for a while now, the weapon of choice, battering his face and upper torso — no strikes to the lower ribs though, some care being taken to see that his lungs stayed intact. There had been a riding crop, early on, its marks still present on his skin, but that got discarded when it didn’t yield the hoped-for results. Things that didn’t work were easily disposable to this man.

        “Information, please.”

        “Corporal.... Charles MacLeod.... British Intelligence.... serial 2511759....”

        The club slammed into his face again, striking him across the cut on his temple and throwing him against the ropes that bound him to the chair, twinging his cracked lower ribs. Charlie sagged there for a moment, slumped over with eyes squeezed shut as he willed the world to stop spinning so sickeningly around him; then a hand was grabbing his left ear, sharply yanking him upright once more as he bit back a yelp.

        “You really are going to need to give me a little more than that, Corporal,” the man sneered, tugging harshly on Charlie’s ear again to tilt his head back and expose his throat, making it harder to breathe. “Otherwise this is going to get much worse before it gets better.”

        Charlie grit his teeth, swallowing hard and gasping shallowly for air. Distantly, he could feel the gunshot wound in his leg throbbing, a low pulsing pain that was somehow grounding and disorienting at the same time. He focussed in on it, feeling it like a heartbeat, like the crashing of ocean waves. He could count the seconds by it, if he wanted to know the passage of time — his watch was gone with his coat, and there were no windows here.

        He wasn’t sure if he wanted to count the seconds, though. Which way would he count them? Up, to measure how long he had been stuck in this little prison of pain? (He didn’t know.) Down, to tick off the passing minutes until his captor finally made a wrong move and he expired from his existing injuries? (Increasingly likely.)

        His family might still come for him, of course. They were reckless and foolish and heroic to a fault, each one, and just the very thought of their determination made hope burn bright and dangerous in his aching chest. It was very likely they would come for him, as they had for Sami in Russia, as they always did for each other every time.

        He just worried that this time, they may finally come too late.

        If they went back home to get supplies and reinforcements, if they waited for the right moment to strike — if they were careful, if they followed procedure — it could be days before they made it back here to find him. And Charlie could already feel that those were days he might not have. This man wasn’t clumsy and uncertain like the Russians who once took Sameer — he was malicious and deliberate, and so far had not offered even so much as a reprieve in a cell or anything to drink. He was relentless and persistent, and with the injuries from his capture already dragging him down, Charlie was terrified he wouldn’t last.

        He wasn’t sure which scared him more, deep down beneath his bravery — the thought that the team might come and find only his body, or the thought that he might break, and have to face them as a traitor.

        “I’m waiting, Corporal,” the man hissed acidly, tugging harder on Charlie’s ear. He moved the club up to press across Charlie's throat, further restricting the shallow breaths drawn into his tired lungs. His head was spinning, his chest burning, burning, God he wanted to pass out-

        The man abruptly released him, stepping back to let him gasp for air, great heaving gulps of it that burned his throat and made his ribs ache and ache and ache, that damned light shining even through his squeezed-shut eyes.

        If the team came for him, he hoped they’d kill this bastard first.

        The man leaned back against the table, folding his arms over his chest again and fixing Charlie with a stern look.

        “Look, perhaps I’ll be more specific. Give me information on the woman,” he prompted. “The short one.”

        Charlie glared back at him, silently stonefaced and feeling murderous.

        “The Indian, then.”

        Charlie screwed up his face in disgust, and spat on the man’s shoe. “Crawl back t’ hell, ya slimy cretin.” Those were the first words outside of his rank and serial he could recall speaking since he arrived.

        The man sighed, looking down at the bloody spittle on the polished leather in something almost like disappointment. Reaching behind him on the table, he set aside the club and picked up a short, shining knife, and turned it over in his hands as if inspecting the polished blade. “I know yours are a country of proud, stubborn people, Corporal MacLeod; but surely you must realize that even the strongest Scottish son will break eventually. The only question, Charles, is when.”

        “Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” Charlie snarled, his temper getting the better of him again.

        “Oh, but  _Charles_ ,” the man cooed, pushing forward off the table to leaning and take Charlie’s chin in one hand, “are we not friends? And here I thought we were getting to know each other, after such a busy day...”

        “Geddoff!” Charlie barked, trying in vain to squirm out of his grip. A day?? It had to have been longer. “I won’t give you anythin’!”

        “Hm... perhaps. Or perhaps... you might tell me the true identity of the Arab spy you work with, the one who stole our files.” The man traced his thumb over Charlie’s chin, voice crooningly gentle. “Tell me, Corporal, and this will all stop.”

        “I’ll die first,” Charlie growled, straining desperately away from the touch. “I’ll never betray him, not in a million years — you’d do better to just kill me now-”

        “That can very well be arranged, if you’re not careful,” the man snapped icily, and let Charlie’s head drop. His chin hitting his chest made his teeth clack together, a jarring sensation ringing through his battered head. “There are men out in the compound who lost comrades to your little stunt with the tree yesterday. I’m sure they would be only too enthusiastic if I were to let them in here to have their shot...”

        Charlie stared at the floor, mind spinning. If the man was right, if it had only been a day that he had spent here... Sami had been in Russia for three days before they had marshalled the forces to get him out. Charlie knew just from the feel of his leg and his own strained shallow breathing that he couldn’t take two more days. Maybe not even one.

        He should never have let himself be captured alive.

        But as Chief always said, there was no rewriting the past. He was here now, still alive. Maybe if he pushed through, there would be a light at the end of this all. Seeking hope and comfort, Charlie dug deep into his memories, pushing the bad ones and the nightmares aside until he landed on one with Sami. That night in Veld; Sami watching him in awe from beside the piano, laughing and talking with him in the cafe for hours, walking by his side back to their room at the inn and smiling over at him from the other bed like maybe Sami didn’t think he was useless after all.

        Surely Sami would come for him in time. They had promised. They had promised not to leave one another behind.

        “Your Arab friend certainly seems to be a pressure point,” the man mused, voice smooth like poison. “Why don’t we talk about him, hm?”

        Charlie grit his teeth, biting back half a dozen retorts telling the man just where he could shove his slimy cooing words and his knife. Further outbursts would just give out more information, make Sami even more of a target — that was the last thing Charlie wanted.

        Suddenly the man was in his space again, gripping Charlie’s chin hard and forcing his head back. He could see the knife glinting out of the corner of his eye, and tried to quash the panic fluttering in his chest, tried not to squirm and let the man see his fear — fear for his friends and for himself. He could do this, he could be strong. He had to. Act strong, play pretend. Like Sami.

        “Who is he?” The man whispered, trailing the knife slowly down Charlie’s temple and over his cheek without breaking skin. Charlie shuddered, staring at the wall to the left of the man’s head and willing himself not to react, even though his shaking hands were giving him away. “Who is he to you, Charles? Colleague? Comrade? Friend? Brother-in-arms?”

        The knife paused at the corner of his mouth, the flat of the blade pressing ever so slightly upon his lower lip.

        “Lover, perhaps?”

        Charlie blinked, once, but let nothing else show, keeping his face of stone. He could pretend. He could hide. Just like Sami.

        “Won’t you tell me his name, please?” The man said, tilting his head expectantly with an exaggerated pout. He moved the blade to rest against Charlie’s cheek, just to the left of his nose. “Surely he can’t be worth all this. None of them can. You can end this all, Charles. I just need names.”

        Charlie glared back, defiant and silent, though inside his mind he repeated the facts in a drumbeat rhythm, easing the terrible involuntary compulsion to let them spill from his tongue:  _his name is Sami and I love him, and he loves me; his name is Sami and I love him, and he loves me; his name is Sami and I love him, and h-_

        The blade dug in slightly, and began to slide smooth and slow across his cheekbone in a blazing line of fire; Charlie bit hard into his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing the whimper that welled up in his throat. His hands clenched in fists, shaking hard enough to rattle the cuffs against the chair behind him.

_I love him he loves me I love him he loves me I love him I love him I love hi-_

        Mercifully, the blade lifted away and he was released; Charlie gasped in relief, chest heaving as he sagged forward against his bindings. He could feel a trickle of hot liquid trace a path down his cheek to his jaw, unsure whether it was blood or angry tears.

        “Not still clinging to your dignity, are you?” The man sighed, sounding almost bored. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just give in?”

        Charlie lifted his head with great effort to pierce the man with a withering look. “F-fuck you.”

        The pommel of the knife collided solidly with the right side of his jaw, a fierce backhanded swing that set Charlie’s ears ringing and his head spinning like a top.

        His leg had started bleeding again somehow, through the shoddy bandages they’d put on to keep him from expiring; he could feel it trickling down over his bare foot and onto the floor. His life dripping away.

        Grasping for hope, he pulled up Sameer’s face in his mind again to block out everything else, running up a catalogue of all the different ways Sami smiled at him:

        over breakfasts, coffee and the morning paper between them and the day ahead;

        over a pub table, sidelong with an inside joke sparkling in his eyes;

        glowing with a sleepy sort of adoration, curled up in their bed and catching their breath with nothing at all keeping them apart;

        whenever Charlie played piano, watching proud and delighted from somewhere nearby;

        when Charlie would walk into the briefing room before a mission and Sami would look up see his face and light up like the sun;

        when Charlie would kiss Sami’s head after another bad audition and hug him close and agree that the world just wasn’t fair;

        when Charlie wasn’t doing anything at all, just sitting in his chair with the newspaper and he’d look up to see Sami gazing at him and smiling like somehow Charlie was precious, like he was important, like Sami felt lucky to just have him there.

        He wanted to see Sami smile at him like that again, more than anything in the world.

        “I don’t know what it is that makes you so devoted to your little thief, or to the others,” the man drawled, almost amused. “Scrawny as you are, it’s certainly made you tougher than I expected. So I will tell you this...”

        He met Charlie’s eyes and smiled as he leaned forward, a cold and poisonous thing.

        “When I find him — when I kill him — I’ll be sure to tell your dear friend that you were very brave.”

        That made Charlie’s blood boil, the thought of this man going after Sami without warning, without Charlie there to protect him. Suddenly rage was pounding hard and hot in his veins with enough adrenaline that he had the strength to struggle again.

        “Don’t you... even  _think_  ‘f touchin’ him-” Charlie snarled, straining against his restraints. “You... you f-filthy bastard, I’ll-”

        The pommel of the knife slammed into his temple this time, hard and ringing and making him gasp – before he even had time to gasp the blade was slashing across his shoulder, another sharp line of fire burning into his skin.

        “It doesn’t have to be like this, Charles.” Another slash, across his other shoulder, another hitched breath of pain. “They aren’t worth it. They don’t care, they’ve left you behind! You can get your revenge,  _and_  you can be free of all this suffering, so very easily. All you have to do is speak.”

        Charlie grit his teeth and ducked his head, breathing sharp and shallow through the pain. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. No matter what this man said, no matter how much the parts of Charlie that still reeked with self-loathing after all these years hissed in agreement, it wasn’t true. His team was his family. His Sami loved him, would keep their promise. And his family would come for him, even if they came too late.

        He had to believe it, or he might break.

        For once, Charlie thought abruptly, the thought floating into his shaken-up mind of its own accord, he was glad he hadn’t worn his kilt; the trousers provided some small measure more protection from the dank chill even without his shirt, and he would’ve hated to ruin the tartan with the not-insignificant amounts of blood and dirt that now stained all his ragged clothes. There was blood seeping for the reopened cut on his temple right now, dripping down onto his thigh. The cuts on his shoulders, while not deep, stung something fierce. His leg was still drip-dripping on the floor.

        Deliriously, he hoped his nose wasn’t broken from the earlier beatings. Sameer had always liked his nose.

        Sameer.

        God, he was almost certainly never going to get to see his Sami’s face in person again. Never get to say ‘I love you’ one last time, never get to say he was sorry or give a proper goodbye. Sameer was a strong, good-hearted man; Charlie could only pray that he would be alright after he was gone. That the team would look after him.

        Charlie has always known he’d die first out of their little pair — anything else would’ve been unacceptable. He just wished it wouldn’t hurt Sami irreparably when he did. He wished he could see him one last time, ask him not to feel guilty about not getting here soon enough.

        Still it was worth it, to die protecting him; Charlie was sure of that. No cause could be more noble. And that alone, a noble end to his messy life, was more than he could ever have really hoped for.

        At least his kilt was clean — if they ever got his body back, he could be buried in it.

        “Still being stoic, hm?” The man pursed his lips, leaning back to consider Charlie while tapping thoughtfully at his chin. His gaze stopped over Charlie’s right leg, the small puddle of blood beneath it, and he sighed as if put-upon. “Well Charles, I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this... but since you are insisting on being so stubborn...” He lifted one foot to push the toe of his shoe against the front of Charlie’s injured shin, causing the gunshot wound on the back of the calf to press ever so slightly against the horizontal rung of the chair.

        Charlie whimpered faintly, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. “Don’t...” he groaned, not entirely of his own volition.

        “Just remember,” the man drawled as if Charlie hadn’t spoken, fiddling absently with the knife, “you have brought what comes next upon yourself.”

        He pushed forward hard with his foot, driving Charlie’s wound against the rail.

        It took Charlie a moment to come back to his body from the white-out haze of pain, and realize that the voice he heard screaming was his own.

        His entire body was shaking by the time it stopped, cuffs rattling staccato against the chair and ribs shuddering against the ropes, teeth grit so tightly his ears were ringing just to keep him from throwing up.

        It was too much. It was too much.

        Just a few words, and this would all stop. Something about Etta, or Chief maybe. God, he knew everything about Sameer that there was to know, every alias and nom de plume, every weakness and soft spot and guilty pleasure. There was nobody Sami trusted more than him — nobody Sami said he loved more in the world.

        Just a few words.

        The very thought of betraying him, betraying any of them, made bile rise in Charlie’s raw and battered throat, and he swallowed hard, repulsed.

        Never. Never in a thousand lifetimes. He would do everything in his power to keep his family safe.

        At all costs.

        “Kill me...” he croaked, barely above a whisper, staring down at the man’s shoes but seeing Sami’s face again in his mind — smiling at him across a hotel room in Veld.

        “I beg your pardon?”

        Slowly, agonizingly, Charlie lifted his head just enough to glare up at the man.

        “Said... you better... kill me...” he wheezed, between shallow laboured breaths. “Cause.... ‘ll never... let you... have 'em...”

        The man sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “God, you’re just so dreadfully loyal down to a fault, aren’t you. What a nuisance of a trait.”

        He turned to the table to pick up the knife again, and with a handkerchief from his pocket began gently wiping the blood from the blade.

        “Well Charles, I suppose you are running out of options. Either you can start giving me some answers, or I can start in on that gunshot wound with this... and that wouldn’t be all too pleasant, would i-”

        There was a heavy knock on the door, and a male voice shouted something in muffled Italian from the other side. The man blinked, surprised, and glanced towards the door.

        “What in the devil....?” he muttered, pushing up from the table to cross to the door. He listened for a moment with an ear against it, and then opened it a crack to peer out. “Can I help you??”

        The fellow in the hallway spoke again, still in Italian — something about his voice made Charlie’s skin prickle in recognition, though he couldn’t quite place it.

        “What? No, no you can _not_ clean in here yet, I’m still using it for the prisoner! You’ll have to wait at least two more hours, I’m sure.”

        More from the Italian speaker, the voice niggling at Charlie’s dazed brain. He knew this. He knew this. He  _knew_  this.

        “Yes, I am quite sure!” The man opened the door a few more inches, stepping into the gap and drawing himself up to his full height. “Look, I don’t damn well know who sent you here, but I-”

_BANG! BANG!_

        The man staggered back from the door and collapsed to the floor, clutching vainly at the two gunshot wounds in the centre of his chest.

        “I- I-”

_BANG!_

        Another shot to the head silenced him.

        For what felt like a very long moment, the only sounds in the room were the deafening shots ringing in Charlie’s ears, his own shallow breathing, and the rattling of his cuffs against the chair.

        Then,

        “Charlie?”

        That voice. God, he’d know that sound anywhere — in life, in death, at the furthest edges of the earth he would know that lovely voice saying his name.

        Sami stepped into the room over the body with Etta close on his heels (her trusty messenger bag and shotgun in tow), removing the peasant cap pulled low over his eyes — when his gaze fell upon Charlie, the hat and his smoking pistol dropped to the floor.

        “ _Merde..._ ”

        Sami was across the room in an instant, bending to cradle Charlie’s face gently in both hands and press their foreheads together with a raw grateful sound like a sob. For all his gentleness it still hurt, but Charlie pressed into the contact anyway, nearly weeping for joy.

        “Right behind me, you said-” Sami hissed, more anguished than angry, fervently kissing Charlie’s right cheek, his forehead, any other inch of his face that wasn’t badly injured. “You said, you  _promised_ -”

        “Sami-” Charlie gasped, heart singing out triumphant in his chest, desperately straining as close as he could even though it pressed the bindings into his ribs. ” _Sami-_ ”

        Sami cupped both hands around his bruised jaw, gentle and reverent as he pushed him back into the chair. “Shhh, shhh, just hold still, Etta is getting your restraints off. I’ve got you, I have you- you are safe now Charlie, I promise,” he leaned up to more carefully kiss the centre of Charlie’s forehead, the only place that didn’t seem to ache. “I promise,  _mi alma_ , he won’t hurt you anymore. He will not hurt anyone, not ever again.”

        “S... Sami?” Charlie croaked, looking up at him in tearful awe as Sami brushed a delicate hand back through his hair, soothing. “Wh- what’re y’ doin’ here... s-so soon?”

        The ropes and cuffs fell away at long last; he sagged sideways off the chair to collapse safely into Sami’s waiting arms.

        “I came to rescue you, you fool,” Sami said, a soft edge to his strained smile as he cradled Charlie’s uninjured cheek in his warm palm, settling him into his lap. “The second we could get off the train, we came back to find you.”

        “He damn near broke his ankles, jumping off like he did,” Etta interjected as she worked around them on patching a few of Charlie’s worst cuts, earning a brief glare from Sami which she paid no heed.

        “Y’... you came back...” Charlie whispered, humbled and grateful, gaze roving over Sami’s lovely face.

        Sami smiled at him, that adoring smile that Charlie had never thought he would see again. Taking one of Charlie’s hands, he brought it to his lips and kissed the knuckles softly, before tucking it close to his chest. “I keep my promises, _matraba_. You know I could never leave you behind.”

        “Are y’... are y’ okay?” Charlie croaked, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment’s rest. “Is... is the rest ‘f the team alright?”

        “Better, now that we’ve got you back,” Etta said from somewhere above him, rummaging in her bag.

        Sami let go of his hand to caress his cheek, voice rough and eyes shining. “Now that I have found you again.”

        “Sameer,” Etta interjected hesitantly, now down near Charlie’s feet. “His leg... this doesn’t look good.”

        Sami glanced in the direction of the wound and grimaced. “Have you any clean dressings?”

        “Yes, but I don’t think we should pull those ones off, not without a doctor.”

        “We’ll put them over it, then,” Sami nodded decisively. “Just something to slow the bleeding.”

        “Sami...” Charlie croaked, managing to grab his sleeve and his attention, “...my ribs...”

        “We’ll be careful of them, don’t worry,” Sami murmured, glancing up to catch Etta’s eye. “You just keep staying strong, you are doing so well  _mon cher_. Just keep holding on.”

        Etta was doing something by Charlie’s feet, though he couldn’t quite lift his head to see what — rebandaging his leg, most likely. The sensations were all out of whack, pain drowning out almost everything else in great rolling waves that ebbed and flowed.

        “There,” Etta said, “that’ll have to do. I wouldn’t move him if we had the option, but seeing as we don’t...”

        “I will carry him,” Sami said, pulling Charlie slightly closer against his chest.

        “Are you certain?” Etta said hesitantly. “I can go get Chief...”

        Sami shook his head. “That will take too long. Besides, he is much lighter than he looks.”

        “Can’t imagine how light that would be,” Etta muttered, likely thinking nobody could hear her.

        “Here,” Sami said, adjusting his hold on Charlie to move back slightly. “Etta, hold him up for a second.”

        A smaller pair of hands moved to support his head and shoulders, and Charlie squinted blearily upwards to see a familiar silhouette with curly orange hair leaning over him.

        “‘lo boss,” he groaned, corner of his mouth quirking up. “Sorry ‘m late for work... missed m’ train...”

        Etta snorted, and just managed to stop it from turning into a sniffle. “Glad to see your terrible sense of humour made it through intact.” She paused, and her next words came out a little hoarse. “Rest of you, too.”

        Charlie grunted noncommittally. “More ‘re less...”

        “Alright Etta, lift him up a little more please,” Sami said, leaning back into view. Charlie grit his teeth and shut his eyes as his body shifted — then suddenly there was something warm and soft against his back, and gentle hands were carefully maneuvering his arms into sleeves and pulling the halves of the garment closed across his bare chest.

        He blearily blinked his eyes open to see what it was — Sami knelt over him now in only his suit jacket, and Charlie was bundled up in his long fleece-collared coat.

        “Wh- won’t y’ be cold?” Charlie murmured, frowning up at him. Sami hated the cold.

        “Nonsense,  _ma moitié_ ,” Sami said softly, carefully taking him back into his arms with a nod of thanks to Etta. “You need it more than I.”

        When Etta spoke next, it was from somewhere above them; Charlie kept his eyes shut now against the harsh light. “I’m set to cover your exit — whenever you’re ready.”

        “Thanks, boss,” Sami said, tiredly grateful.

        “We movin’?” Charlie murmured, opening his eyes a crack to squint up at him.

        “In a moment,” Sami said softly, stroking his cheek. “You ready?”

        “As I’ll ever be...” Charlie muttered dryly, shutting his eyes again to brace for the inevitable ordeal.

        “Alright, just hold on to me as best you can,  _amado_. Lifting in three- two- one-”

        Sami slid an arm beneath his knees to match the one around his back, and with a groan heaved himself to his feet, Charlie cradled in his arms bridal style.

        In any other situation, Charlie might have protested at the indignity of such a position — now he simply let his head rest gratefully against Sameer’s shoulder, fingers curling tight as he could into the front of Sami’s suit jacket. He realized distantly that several of his injuries must be bleeding directly onto Sami’s nice long coat and his suit as well, and mumbled something like an apology.

        “Hush darling, it is alright,” Sami murmured, lips brushing soft against his bruised temple. “I’ve got you.”

        The trip out through the compound passed in a haze, Charlie mostly keeping his eyes shut and his face pressed to Sami’s neck, gritting his teeth against any movement that jostled his worst injuries as Sami murmured soothing nonsense in his ear. He thought he might have heard Etta’s shotgun go off, once, but Sami didn’t react, so he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a hallucination.

        At some point Sami finally stopped walking, and another set of hands made contact with Charlie’s back and legs and began to lift him carefully from Sami’s arms.

        “It is only Chief,” Sami assured him, supporting his head and carefully extricating Charlie’s white-knuckle grip on his suit. “You’ll be back with me in a moment _cariño_ , do not worry.” Then he was gone, a cold space where his hands had been. No, wait, not gone — Charlie could distantly hear him talking to Etta, interrupted by the sound of vehicle doors opening and slamming shut.

        “Glad to see you again, red,” Chief said quietly, somewhere above Charlie’s head.

        “Damn... damn glad to see you too, big man,” Charlie groaned, smiling weakly; he felt rather than heard the low chuckle rumble in his friend’s chest.

        “Okay Chief, bring him in,” Sami said, somewhere off to the side. Charlie cracked an eye open to see a beat-up grey truck, with an open box bed and the nearest two side doors standing open. Chief stepped up to the rear door, and with the help of Sami already inside, they managed to maneuver Charlie head first in through the door and onto the seat, settling him in to rest across Sami’s lap, shoulders cradled so his head could rest in the crook of Sami’s arm.

        It took a moment for the haze of pain and sharp, shallow breathing associated with all that movement to fade back down; by the time Charlie was fully aware of his surroundings again the door was closed and the engine had started, the truck jolting into motion. He winced a little at the jostling, a small involuntary moan slipping out, and Sami’s free hand came to rest at the very top of his forehead, brushing gentle and soothing through his hair. A scratchy wool blanket had been tucked over him in addition to Sami’s gifted coat, and for the first time in that very long day he began to feel properly warm. Properly safe.

        They had come for him. His family had come.

        They rode for a while with a tense silence in the cab of the truck, Charlie gritting his teeth and trying not to groan or whimper at every bump in the road, often failing in that and receiving murmured words of comfort and apology from Sami’s soft voice above.

        With a sort of dull and distant horror, Charlie realized that each time he shut his eyes against the pain, it was growing more and more difficult to open them again. His leg, he was almost certain, was still bleeding through its bandages.

        “Sami...”

        Sami’s hand stilled its gentle motions. “Yes darling, what is it?”

        “Can... can y’ just talk t’ me... please?” Charlie whispered, looking up at him. He winced as the truck rolled over another bump and jostled everything, breathing turning to shallow gasps. “Havin’... havin’ trouble stayin’ focused.... an’ keepin’ my eyes open... need somethin’ t’ listen to...”

        “Of course,” Sami said, gazing down with a smile that almost covered up the fear in his eyes as he delicately cradled the uninjured side of Charlie face. “Of course  _mon coeur_ , what- what would you like to hear?”

        “Tell me... tell me what we’ll do, after this is over...” Charlie croaked, lips curving into a tiny half-smile that made his split lip sting. “Gimme... a lil’ hope, love.”

        Sami swallowed hard, his smile wavering slightly, but it was back in place a second later. “As you wish,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over Charlie’s cheek. There was a pause, and then he began, “Well, the first order of business will be to get you to a hospital, of course. A private one if Etta can manage it, which I am sure she can; you will have nothing but the best care.”

        “Lovely nurses fawnin’ all over me?” Charlie drawled, cracking a little grin at the joke — they both knew women had never been his sort.

        Sami laughed a little, the smile actually reaching his eyes for a moment. “And handsome doctors too, I am sure.”

        Charlie chuckled, then winced as the movement disturbed his cracked ribs. “Brilliant,” he groaned, gritting his teeth and breathing hard and shallow through his nose. “What... what next, after th’ hospital?”

        There was a pinched sort of furrow between Sami’s brow, one that looked almost pained; he moved his hand down to take hold of Charlie’s own where it rested on his chest over the blanket, the grip warm and secure.

        “After you are better,” Sami said softly, “we will go away someplace nice, just the two of us. The south of France, perhaps — a little cottage by the sea, with nobody else around for miles.”

        “Like the sound o’ that... already,” Charlie whispered, weakly squeezing the tips of Sami’s fingers.

        Sami smiled at him with adoring anguished eyes. “Yes, I thought you might.” He brushed his thumb gently over Charlie’s knuckles, a rhythm like the crashing of waves upon that distant French shore. “Every morning we will lie in bed as long as we want; or you can rise early and make breakfast for me, like I know you love to do. I _might_ even let you go.”

        “How generous of you,” Charlie teased, smiling. Then the truck hit another small bump, and he winced, an involuntary hiss of pain that turned his breathing ragged again; Sami squeezed his hand a little harder, grounding him.

        “We shall go for grand rambling strolls every day once your leg is strong enough,” Sami continued, swallowing away the hoarse edge to his voice. “Along the sea shore and through the countryside, walking and talking as long as we like, as long as we are able. There would not be anyone around, and it is France, so you could even take my arm if you wished.”

        “Or... hold your hand,” Charlie murmured fondly, smiling weakly down at where he already did. It always made his soul feel happy, holding Sami’s hand in his.

        “Yes,” Sami said roughly, blinking to clear his eyes. “Yes, and when we tire of walking, we can sit out in the garden, or inside the house if it should rain; we can sit just like this, and I’ll read to you, anything you want.”

        Charlie frowned, slightly bewildered. “Wh- you never... lemme pick...”

        Sami’s smile faltered, growing more anguished at the edges as he blinked back tears. “That... that was my mistake. I will this time, _omri_. I promise.”

        Charlie squeezed his fingertips in reassurance, trying not to think about how his feet were growing eerily cold. The pain in his leg seemed to be dulling, at least. “What... what else’ll we do... while we’re there?”

        Sami’s thumb continued its steady rhythm over his knuckles, back and forth. “Cook dinner together often I think, with good fresh food from some little village market — no more field rations.”

        “Now yer talkin’...” Charlie grinned weakly.

        “And we will swim in the sea, if it isn’t too cold. I am not the best swimmer, so you may have to teach me,” Sami said, lips quirking up. “Afterwards we can just lie in the sand, and let the sunshine warm us back up again.”

        Charlie raised one eyebrow, looking up at him. “ _Just_  lie there?” he said a bit plaintively, thinking faintly of tanned skin kissed by the sun. “...nothin’ else?”

        Sami grinned, a little bit of genuine good humour. “That would depend on how empty the beach is,” he whispered teasingly, and winked.

        Charlie snorted, regretting it instantly as his chest was set aflame. It took a tense moment for his vision to clear of stars, for his harsh gasps to almost be normal breaths again; only then was he able to speak. “Wh... what’ll we do... in th’ evenin’s?”

        Sami’s hand on his shoulder shifted slightly, the thumb beginning to move in gentle grounding circles over the coat. “Well... when the sky is clear, we can take our tea out to the garden and just sit watching the stars, listening to the quiet all around us. Talking, if we choose.”

        “I could... sing for you...” Charlie murmured, a tune already dancing in the back of his dazed mind. His eyelids felt very heavy. Maybe in a moment he could rest them, just for a little while. “If y’ like...”

        “Yes,” Sami said, voice oddly choked though he was still putting up a smile. “Yes I would like that,  _matraba_  — very much.”

        “Would...” Charlie glanced down, watching Sami’s thumb trace over his knuckles, feeling a little foolish for what he was about to ask, but just wanting to hear it. “Would we... make love, often?”

        “Goodness!” Sami exclaimed with a genuine laugh, a warm and bright startled sound. “My, but you are so very forward,  _monsieur!_ ” He feigned red-cheeked embarrassment for a few more seconds, then carefully brought Charlie’s hand up to press a kiss against the knuckles, smiling bittersweetly down at him. “We will, do not worry. As soon as you are well, I will not be keeping my hands to myself; we can do it every day, if you want to — twice a day, even, or more. In fact, you had best prepare yourself to be showered in adoration,  _chérie_. You will be loved as you have never been loved before.”

        There was a laughing lilt to Sami’s voice, but it covered something serious and fierce that shone in his eyes as he clutched Charlie’s hand to his heart; burning desire and glowing affection that rung true right to the core as Sami spoke on, “I will sleep every night with you safe in my arms, and I will not ever lose you again. I swear it, _ameli_. I promise.”

        Charlie felt a sharp ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries, and suddenly the tears in his eyes had very little relation to the pain. He wished the weakness creeping over his body would subside for a moment, so he could pull Sami down for a proper kiss... but god, he just felt so terribly tired... so ready to rest...

        “How long... will we stay there?” he whispered hoarsely, forcing his leaden tongue to speak.

        “As long as it takes,” Sami murmured, squeezing his hand. “Until you are healed through and through, inside and out. Until all of this is nothing but another bad dream.”

        “Sounds... wonderful...” Charlie groaned. It took nearly all his energy to keep both eyes open for very long now, took all his strength to breathe, but he still made the effort to try and smile weakly back.

        “It will be,” Sami assured him, cradling him close. “All you have to do is hold on until we get there, alright  _querido_? Just hold on. Promise me.”

        “‘m... tired, sweetheart...” Charlie rasped, straining to speak, to hold his eyes open more than just a crack. “So... so t... tired...”

        “Stay with me Charlie, keep your eyes open — we are nearly there.” Sami’s voice took on a note of urgency, though he was clearly trying to stay gentle. He looked up towards the front of the truck, spoke his next words louder in a sharper tone. “You must go faster, Chief — please hurry, I think he is getting worse.”

        “Hey... love...” Charlie gasped softly, trying to squeeze Sami’s fingers but not sure whether he really did it; his whole body was growing fuzzy and indistinct now, and the vision through his half-shut eyelids was edged with a creeping black haze. “L... love you... Sa... Sami...”

        “Don’t- Charlie you must listen to me, stay awake _rohi_ , please-” Sami’s calm tone was cracking now, growing more frantic as he gently shook Charlie’s shoulder to try and jostle him more awake. “You must hold on, stay with me Charlie- do not dare close your eyes! Chief! Chief you must go faster! Well  _make_  it faster Etta, I don’t care!”

        “Sami...” He felt so safe here, safe in his Sami’s arms — safe enough to rest, letting his eyes slip closed...

        “Just- just hold on darling, hold on please-” Sami was squeezing his hand so tightly, like he was trying to hold on on his behalf, trying to keep Charlie from slipping away.

        “S... sorry...” Charlie sighed, barely louder than breathing. His hand hung limp in Sami’s crushing grip, and he couldn’t find the energy to open his eyes even though he wished desperately to look upon Sami’s face one last time. There was hardly any pain anymore, and he sighed. “Love... love y... lo...”

        “Charlie! Charlie please!” All of Sami’s composure was gone, his voice ragged and raw and shouting as he frantically clasped Charlie’s face between his palms. “Stay with me-  _restes ici, mon âme, restes ici_ \- hold on! Please! Charlie!”

        Charlie heard his pleas only in the distance, fading away as the cold yet gentle darkness swallowed him down.

* * *

        Charlie opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was the most incredible multitude of stars.

        All was very quiet, though not silent. Here and there the stillness was broken up by the sound of frogs in the rushes at the back of the garden, an owl in a tree a few fields away; all the small things of nature shifting and scurrying in the warm summer air of this moonless night.

        Just down over the hill, the ocean crashed again and again against the sand, a soft rushing rhythm like the breath of a sleeping giant.

        Charlie sat up slightly in the lawn chaise where he lay, and turned his head to see Sami beside him. He was sitting on the side edge of his own identical chair, looking astonishingly handsome with his white shirt half unbuttoned and one side of his face lit warmly by the lantern burning behind them at the cottage door. His hand rested lightly on the crook of Charlie’s arm — that must have been what had woken him.

        “‘lo, darlin’,” Charlie mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes. “Just had the strangest dream. S’pose I dozed right off, huh?”

        Sami smiled, fond and gentle. “Right in the middle of my sentence, yes. I might have let you continue, but I was worried some small insect might fly into your mouth while you snored, which sounded unfortunate for everyone involved.”

        Charlie chuckled, moving aside the empty teacup balanced on his thigh and sitting up fully. “Bless you for bein’ so considerate, dear.” He stretched his arms high over his head, only wincing a little when old scars tugged and a few joints cracked. Swinging his legs over the side of the chaise to plant both feet in the cool grass between the chairs, he bent to pick up the cup again and glanced up at Sami. “Bed, then?”

        Sami turned his head to look back at the house with its glowing lantern. “I was thinking so, yes.” The warm yellow light made his features look soft, contrasted to the dark midnight blue of everything else in the garden; he looked less tired, now, than he had when they first came here, the dark circles around his eyes less pronounced. When he glanced back to Charlie, those same eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, raking over him slow as Sami wet his lips and curled his fingers round the edge of the chaise. “Will you... will you wish to go straight to sleep tonight, or....?”

        Under Sami’s intent gaze, Charlie remembered very suddenly his own physical appearance. His shoes had been kicked off goodness-knows-where, pants still cuffed high from their afternoon walk on the shore and the sleeves had been rolled up on his white linen shirt against the heat of the stove from supper; the three buttons at the top of his collar which hung open for that very same reason had likely exposed the mark Sami kissed onto his collarbone that morning, an effort to coax him back to bed.

        Charlie felt a warm buzz of desire building low in his gut as he took in Sami’s not-dissimilar attire: bare feet; exposed forearms and a half-open shirt; curly hair in need of a trim, soft and messy and speckled with sparse strands of silver which had crept in over the years.

        “Think I might be persuaded to stay up a wee bit longer,” Charlie said, rough and low as he reached out to brush Sami’s hair back from the edge of his forehead, Sami leaning into the touch. “Just gimme another couple o’ minutes out here, alright love?”

        Sami smiled, reaching up to take Charlie’s hand and give a gentle squeeze. “Alright,” he said softly, releasing it. He pushed up from the chair and stood, looking down with both hands in his pockets and a fond glow in his eyes.

        Something in his smile faltered for an instant, his expression turning pained — one hand moved from his pocket to cradle the left side of Charlie’s face, stroking a thumb across his cheek. Sami’s eyes were shining just a bit too much for a fully happy feeling, threatening to spill over.

        “You okay,  _leannan_?” Charlie murmured, brow furrowing in gentle concern as he reached up to curl his fingers around Sami’s wrist.

        Sami blinked, seeming to come back to himself; he blinked harder again to clear his eyes, and smiled kindly, the aching look fading fast. “Yes. Yes, _matraba_ , I am just fine.”

        Still cupping Charlie’s jaw, he bent down to press a soft kiss to his cheek, right over the thin pink line of scar tissue that ran straight across it. Charlie let his eyes fall shut, grip tightening ever so slightly on Sami’s arm as he leaned into the contact.

        “Do not wait too long to come inside,  _tesoro_ ,” Sami whispered against his skin, warm and breathy and full of promises that made Charlie shiver.

        “I’ll be right behind you,” he murmured, and pressed his lips ever so briefly to the inner curve of Sami’s wrist. “Promise.”

        He felt Sami smile against his cheek, and then Sami stood up and stepped back, letting his hand hang between them for a moment before Charlie released it.

        “I will see you in a few minutes,” Sami said, eyes sparkling with a light that was almost mischievous; then he turned away, hands in his pockets, to walk barefoot back across the garden to the little house.

        Charlie watched him go until Sami disappeared inside, then turned his face up to the sky, looking once again at the vast multitude of stars that shone high over the French countryside.

        Summer was nearing its end, but the air was still warm, and he knew from past years that it would remain so for a few weeks, and the sea for longer — perhaps tomorrow afternoon they would go swimming, if the sun stayed out. In the morning, he might even succeed in sneaking out of bed to make Sami breakfast without being reeled back in and badgered with insistent, pleading sleepy kisses until he stayed; but perhaps that was too optimistic a view of his own stubbornness. As if he could refuse Sameer anything in the world.

        In a month they would return to Paris again as they did each year, back to a part-time job at the music shop and to sessions with his psychotherapist and to the fall season at Sami’s chosen theatre; and then winter would roll in, cozy and indoorsy and only slightly claustrophobic.

        But for now it was still summer in the south of France, their third spent here since the missions had stopped after Italy — the sky was wide and the days long and lazy, and the nightmares were few and far between.

        Against all Charlie had ever expected, his life was full of peace. Full of joy. Full of love.

        The owl called again outside the garden, a little closer than before, startling him out of his reverie. He picked up the teacup from his lap, and bent to retrieve his cane from the grass, bracing with it to stand up from the chair; for all their afternoon exertions tonight was one of the good nights, and when he put weight on his right leg it hardly bothered him at all.

        Charlie took one last look at the heavens above; the rushing waves in the background somehow called a few scattered notes from the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata to his mind, and his fingers tapped them out absently against the cane’s wooden handle. The stars would still be there tomorrow, of course — right now his Sami was waiting for him inside.

        He smiled at the heavens, and then turned to start towards the house.

**Author's Note:**

> me: "why can't ppl be nicer to charlie in their fics!?!?"  
> also me: *writes a fic that is 11,000 words of being terrible to him and like 800 words of nice*  
> also also me: *isn't sorry*
> 
> ah, the things we do to characters when we love them
> 
> Poetry line in the summary is famously from Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost; additionally, Moonlight Sonata is a gorgeous long-form poem and I recommend it greatly. And to clarify since some beta-readers (Kate, trying to read thru tears) found it ambiguous: no, Charlie is not dead at the end, nor it was not all just a dream.
> 
> My love and thanks to Elri and Kate, for being wonderful by supporting me and terrible by encouraging me and for existing for me to email this fic to way back when so that it survived last saturday when my iPhone died and ate six months of un-backed-up writing work and photos (and all my step-counting, RIP). In many ways, this fic lives because of you (and because watching Kate shout her way through on the first live-read was really fun and fuels me to be *Maru voice* terrible).
> 
> This story has a long "rest of their lives" epilogue written for it now, and maybe if enough of you express interest I will post it to round out the series! It also has a million little references and Easter eggs - for example, Charlie's military serial is the birthday of the great Scottish poet Robert Burns, whose piece Green Grow the Rashes is what Charlie sings when Diana asks him to sing for them in Veld. His canon rank is Private, but I like to imagine they gave him a promotion when the postwar missions started since it’s a special posting.
> 
> I am frequently found spouting further nonsense and shouting about these characters on tumblr, also as @oopsabird!


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